aithuzah:

i found this WIP while going through some old notebooks and decided to type it up and add a bit. might expand on it/fix it up and post it on AO3 at some point, but in case that doesn’t happen here u go

it takes place after the main events of “Sins of the Father” in case that isn’t clear

————

Hours had passed since the prince had held a sword to the king’s throat, and the nausea in Merlin’s gut and heart hadn’t receded. Merlin stumbled through his duties sick with self-disgust.

He’d hated himself the moment the words came to mind, yet he’d choked them out anyway—a rejection of his own magic, of himself, and everyone like him.

And for what? To save the life of a man who had stolen theirs? Someone who would kill him and feel nothing but satisfaction at his death?

No, no, he told himself. Not for him. Never for his sake. For Arthur’s. To keep him from killing his father in a fit of (entirely justified) rage. To keep him from taking the throne through patricide and regicide.

It had been the right thing to do. He’d had to. And yet…

He hadn’t had to say that.

He should have said something else, anything else. And instead he drove Arthur away from the truth Morgause had shown him and right back into his father’s hateful lies.

The right thing to do, but the wrong way to do it. The worst way.

—

Merlin found Arthur staring out the window of his chambers, his brow furrowed in thought but his face otherwise calm. His elbow rested on his other arm, his face cupped in his hand, mouth hidden.

Merlin jumped when Arthur spoke.

“He didn’t deny it,” he said, his voice low and cool.

“I’m sorry?”

“He said he loved her and would never hurt her, but he never said it wasn’t true.”

Was this real? What was happening?

“Thank you, Merlin, for what you said. I was…confused, and angry, and you kept me from making a mistake I would surely regret. I’m grateful.”

…And Merlin was lost.

“I know I can’t trust Morgause,” Arthur continued, again dragging the conversation into a sharp turn to a new direction. “She was manipulating me…but what if she used the truth to do it? My father would never admit to it. His pride wouldn’t let him. And…”

Arthur sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut. He turned from the window and began pacing.

Merlin felt lightheaded, like he should sit down, or slap himself awake from this…daydream, this unbelievable fantasy.

“Threatening his life only made confession less likely. It wouldn’t have saved him, it would have condemned him—he knew that. Of course he would continue the lie. Attacking him—it was arrogant. Childish. Dangerous.” If Merlin’s breath hadn’t been frozen in his throat, he might have teased Arthur about admitting such things about himself.

“What if you hadn’t stopped me—if I had struck him down, only to discover his innocence after it was too late? How could anyone trust a king who would kill out of thoughtless anger at an unproven crime?”

Arthur stopped with his gaze burning straight into Merlin’s.

“And how can I trust that you’ve been told the truth? Is either story true, or are they both lies? What if the truth is something else entirely? Merlin, I need to know.”

“Arthur?” Why was he telling him all of this?

“There must be some record, some kind of evidence or sign. I need to see for myself, do you understand? I need to know if my father…if Uther…if what Morgause showed me is true.”

“And then what will you do?”

“I can’t serve a king who murders innocents to hide his guilt.”

“Arthur…”

“I can’t kill him, either. I…I don’t know. All of this, it’s madness, but…God. All these years, I’ve stood by—I’ve killed—they…they could have been innocent.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin, his expression drained and weary.

“I want to believe he could never do such things. That he—I—we’ve been protecting Camelot’s people, not slaughtering them.

“If I go on without knowing if my father is telling the truth, I’m as guilty as he is, and more innocents will die.

“Will you help me?”

Merlin gaped at Arthur long enough that the earnest nobility of his expression faltered.

“I realize it’s a lot to ask—it is essentially treason, after all—”

“I have magic,” Merlin blurted, and then slapped both his hands over his mouth.

Arthur stared at him. Merlin stared back.

“Well,” Arthur said at last, “I suppose treason isn’t a problem for you, then.”